


Being Switzerland is Hard

by KayBob6



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Slytherin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayBob6/pseuds/KayBob6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keiran Badaeu was only eight when she was thrust into a world of dark magic, hypocrisy and the art of saving ones own neck. But now that another wizarding war is brewing she is finding it hard to choose a side. After all she feels a loyalty to her Slytherin house and friends, but she knows that the Death Eaters are monstrous. Even at age fifteen she knows that every action comes with a consequence and in the tumultuous world of change that she lives in each choice must be made with great consideration, for if she chooses the side of her caretaker she will be forced to harm her own people but should she choose to rebel she faces almost certain death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Switzerland is Hard

I was born in Gretna Green Scotland, a village famous for its runaway marriages, my parents being no different. My father was the heir to the oldest pureblood family in France, though after he married my mum, the daughter of pureblood descended squibs, he was disowned. Despite having studied in England my father never learned English, at least enough to find work, and my mum became our breadwinner. My birthday is the 5th of June 1980, and I would find this an unimportant fact to include if it were not that it is actually a important one, though why it is irrelevant until later on. At the time of my birth my mother was addicted to cocaine, a muggle drug she had first tried when she was running around with a group of muggles just after she had left Hogwarts. She had attempted to stay clean until after I was born but this proved too hard for my then twenty year mum and she gave in when she was six months along. I was born at seven months and luckily made it through without any defects or disorders.

By age five my mum and dad had worked about every job they could in Gretna Green and so they were left with no choice but to move us across the border to Berwick – upon- Tweed, Northumberland. I felt out of place in England, even though I had grown up only a few hours from the border between the two countries. My mum of course had a northern accent, having grown up in Northumberland herself, and my father spoke French majority of the time. My and my brothers accents were predominantly a Scottish accent, though sometimes my words would come out sounding as though I’d been born and bred in Northumberland. But to be totally honest English was never the language I preferred, and certainly not the language I used most of the time. No french was the common language of my home and it's French that given the choice I would always choose to speak. Of course that's an entirely different story now, but at the time I loved the sound of my fathers mother tongue and I would beg him to read to me every night.

When I was seven years old my older brother Benoît became very sick, at least that’s how I understood it at the time. My parents didn’t know what do, as my father had been out of work for two months, and my mum had been sacked due to being high while at work. We barely had enough money for food, let alone for the cost of St.Mungo’s or the potions to treat him. My parents decided that he simply had a cold or the flu and he would get over it eventually. But when a year had past and all he had done was get worse my father decided that he needed a trip to the Swiss Alps to help his lungs. I remember I helped out at all the neighbors’ homes in an effort to raise money for the trip and after five months of penny pinching they had enough for a weekend.

But not a month after that I awoke to find my brother no longer breathing in the bed across from mine. That was the 3rd of September 1988. When I screamed for my father he came running, along with my mum who stayed at the door, observing the scene before her. My father ran to Benoît’s bed, and upon seeing his small chest no longer struggling to rise and fall, my papa broke down. I looked away from my papa to my mum, who shrugged. “Someone had to do it. He was gonna die soon and he was just eating up what little money we have.” My father looked at her with disgust, “You mean, non vous ne pourriez pas avoir.” (no you couldn’t have) my papa replied. “I did, stuck a pillow over his face, ended it quick.” I didn’t understand, did my mum… “Papa ne mère tuer Benoît?” (Papa did mum kill Benoît) I asked my father “Yes mon enfant.” (yes my child) My father said before falling to the floor sobbing. “But why?” I asked, mum had her faults but she would kill, even for the funny smelling stuff she stabbed into her arm. “Maman is sick. That’s why.” He said through tears. I sat next to him and gave him a hug, I didn’t understand exactly what was going on, it was all very confusing, but I did understand that my brother was dead and my mum was sick. But what that all meant for me I wasn't sure.

Father sent an owl to St. Mungos in an effort to have them come take the body. Once the owl was off he sent me outside to wait for them, and to come get him when they arrived. I being the obedient child I was I did as I was asked and waited in the front garden for the healers who would take my brother away. I didn't even notice the sound of the back door slamming only a few minutes after I had gone out into the front. When they arrived I entered the home and called for my father.The healers needed to speak with him so they could determine whether my brother could be saved. I searched all through the house but he was nowhere to be found. When I went into my parents’ bedroom and I found not my father, but my mother. Hanging from the ceiling fan, held up by scarves. I looked up at her face and when I looked into her eyes I saw only a glazed over stare. She looked at me as if to say that it was my fault. That if I wasn’t alive the family would have more money. That Benoît wouldn’t have had to die.

I screamed and ran out of the room, sobbing, the image of my mother hanging burned into my eyelids,but I didn't run far before I ran into a solid black figure that put a hand over my mouth and whispered in my ear, “Be quite!” I immediately shut up, slightly frightened by the harshness of the mans voice. He removed his hand once he saw that I was no longer screaming and that's when I looked up to see who it was that had stopped me.

I had no idea who the man was. Only that he looked scary and mean, but also very powerful.

The man turned to one of the healers and in a authoritative voice said, “I am this girls godfather. I will take her to my home until her father can be located. She will pack a bag and then we will leave.”

“Of course Mr. Malfoy.” The healer replied, almost in a scared voice. My godfather. I had no idea that I had a godfather but I knew that if my papa had made this man my godfather than this man was going to protect me. He cared about me and would want to help me. My godfather was going to protect me.


End file.
